so often come true.
Like the waves they surged upon the American shore. With ax and shovel
and plow, with sweat of labor and pain, they fought the wilderness and
bought a foothold in the new commonwealth. What great luck that his exit
from the old life should prove to be his entrance into the very heart of
a simple multitude flying from the greed and stupidity of the decadent
aristocracy of Europe! What fitness that he, child of a race which had
triumphantly fought injustice, poverty, Indian, and wilderness, should
now be leader for a people who had fled from injustice at home only to
begin a new struggle with plotters like Livingstone, foolish
representative of the caste-system of the old world.

Sonia Westfield, by strange fatality, was aboard with her child and Aunt
Lois. Her presence, when first they came face to face, startled him; not
the event, but the littleness of the great earth; that his hatred and
her crime could not keep them farther apart. The Endicott in him rose up
for a moment at the sight of her, and to his horror even sighed for her:
this Endicott, who for a twelvemonth had been so submerged under the new
personality that Dillon had hardly thought of him. He sighed for her!
Her beauty still pinched him, and the memory of the first enchantment
had not faded from the mind of the poor ghost. It mouthed in anger at
the master who had destroyed it, who mocked at it now bitterly: you are
the husband of Sonia Westfield, and the father of her fraudulent child;
go to them as you desire. But the phantom fled humiliated, while Dillon
remained horror-shaken by that passing fancy of the Endicott to take up
the dream of youth again. Could he by any fatality descend to this
shame? Her presence did not arouse his anger or his dread, hardly his
curiosity. He kept out of her way as much as possible, yet more than
once they met; but only at the last did the vague inquiry in her face
indicate that memory had impressions of him.

Often he studied her from afar, when she sat deep in thought with her
lovely eyes ... how he had loved them ... melting, damnable, false eyes
fixed on the sea. He wondered how she bore her misery, of which not a
sign showed on the velvet face. Did she rage at the depths of that sea
which in an instant had engulfed her fool-husband and his fortune? The
same sea now mocked her, laughed at her rage, bearing on its bosom the
mystery which she struggled to steal from time. No one could punish this
c